


Too Easy

by newfangled



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Roommates, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 01:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newfangled/pseuds/newfangled
Summary: Bellamy is the best roommate, even if he is a bit anti-social. Since they're staying in for NYE, Clarke decides to surprise him. Technically she succeeds.





	Too Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, this is my first fanfic ever. My 2019 resolution is to no longer just be a consumer of fiction, but a creator. So please enjoy!

In most ways, living with Clarke is easy. She’s financially sound, has few annoying habits, and while they initially moved in together as strangers, she is essentially Bellamy’s closest friend now (sorry Miller). 

Sure, she misplaces the TV remote daily and her affinity for rearranging the furniture can run a bit rampant, but overall, their relationship just works. (Well, minus those secret, non-platonic feelings Bellamy is kind of harboring.)

They’re roommates, sure, but they’re also partners. A team to be reckoned with, he thinks. And so whenever anyone asks what it’s like living with Clarke, Bellamy loves to (smugly) affirm that it’s great, that it’s easy! She is truly a sensible, courteous and tidy roommate. And that’s probably why the disarray Bellamy has just stepped into is all kinds of confounding. 

“What’s with the face?” Clarke nervously asks, fidgeting with the apron tied sloppily at her waist.

It’s not often that Bellamy finds himself speechless, and yet, here he is. And while he is quite aware of the anxiety in her tone, which he would normally make quick work to absolve, he is also too fixated on the overflowing pots and upturned containers surrounding them to actually respond. 

_Has she been cooking?!?!?_

It’s an odd realization, for sure. In the three years that Bellamy has known Clarke he has become quite familiar with her culinary repertoire (i.e. boxed macaroni and cheese, toast with butter and jam, and most often of all, DoorDash). And yet, by all indications, Clarke is cooking. 

_The same Clarke who once deemed cooking “overrated”, he reminds himself._

Clarke continues to look at him expectantly, and while Bellamy is aware that his silence is creating unease, he can’t seem to formulate an adequate response. His mind simply splutters. 

“Sorry,” he finally manages, meeting her curious gaze. “You asked about… the face?”

“Yeah. The face,” she repeats, inching closer to him. “Specifically, your face. At this moment. Featuring an emotion I can’t quite read.”

Bellamy winces, realizing his lack of tact. If he had to wager, he’d bet that his face currently reflects a mix of horror and bewilderment (and he’d be right).

“Umm, yeah,” he starts again, but all at once, the words seem to wither on his tongue. He shifts his focus back towards the current disorder. And truly, it’s bad.

It appears as if the refrigerator and cupboards have simultaneously detonated. The kitchen, a typically tidy space under his (neurotic) care, has been decimated by congealed goo and crumbs. Nearly every spice and seasoning container has been pulled out (and most spilled over); the floor appears to be coated in powder (flour, he assumes); and the sink contains a worrying tower of dirtied pans. Plus, the general haziness and smoky aroma of the room seems to indicate something was recently burning.

He attempts a placid smile as he meets her eyes again and (thankfully) Clarke seems to perk up from his effort.

“I made fondue,” she clarifies with an awkward chuckle.

They both turns towards the nearby range and watch as said melty concoction bubbles over the rim of the saucepan; it sizzles as it hit the heated stovetop below and it’s Clarke’s turn to cringe. After another prolonged pause, Bellamy finally regains some composure.

“Fondue,” he states, as if testing out the legitimacy of the word. “Why fondue?”

“Oh. Well, we had so much leftover cheese in the fridge. Like, an exorbitant amount. And the milk was due to expire tomorrow. Plus the bread was going stale. And, well,” she sheepishly exhales, “I wanted to surprise you. So, surprise!”

She awkwardly flashes jazz hands and Bellamy feels his chest pleasantly constrict. 

_She wanted to surprise me, he repeats to himself._

He smiles warmly at her and sees her shoulders begin to relax. 

“Clearly this didn’t come out as planned,” she notes, gesturing around the chaotic room. Bellamy nods openly in agreement, which earns him one of her classic smirks. She begins moving around the space, snatching up unclean utensils. 

“You said you didn’t want to go out for New Year’s Eve,” she explains. “And no matter how many times you repeated yourself, I was never going to go out without you. But I also wasn’t going to just let the night pass without some sort of celebratory gesture. And obviously I’m the worst cook ever. But I specifically Googled ‘simple New Years recipes.’ And fondue sounded great! Sounded easy. I actually read the whole recipe before I even started, you should know. But I kind of got confused about the temperature, and I kind of got distracted by a text from Raven. And yeah, fondue and champagne. That was the grand plan.”

Clarke dumps her collected items into the already packed sink and turns to face a now beaming Bellamy.

“It’s perfect, Clarke,” he responds sincerely. “Well, not the actual execution of it. That appears very flawed. But the intent was nice.”

That earns him a legitimate laugh. “Shut up,” she commands, but with zero resentment. She steps towards him and attempts to swat his arm, but Bellamy dodges her approach. 

“And unfortunately,” he continues with a grin and a nod towards the stove, “this looks more like melted plastic than fondue.” 

“Uh huh,” Clarke drones. She playfully swats at him once more, but he easily sidesteps her. They begin to giggle as Clarke unsuccessfully lunges for a third time.

“Okay, okay!” Bellamy raises his hands in surrender. “How about we keep the champagne, that part was solid, but ditch the fondue and order a pizza instead.”

“I think that is a wise plan,” Clarke solemnly nods. Then, sighing loudly she adds, “Bell, I so fucked up.”

“Yeah, you fully did.”

They start freely laughing then, leaning against the counters to keep themselves upright as they collapse in hysterics. Bellamy feels another rush of pure affection for his disheveled friend, and for once, doesn’t try to tamp it down. 

After several moments, they begin to calm, both left with laughter tears trailing down their faces. Bellamy leans in to swipe a rogue tear from Clarke’s cheek, but is startled when her arms suddenly encircle his waist. She tugs him into a hug. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your surprise, Bell,” she mumbles against his chest. 

She seems to snuggle in closer and once again, his heart tightens with affection. He silently prays she can’t hear the rapid increase to his heart-rate that her proximity is causing.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he softly replies.

He wonders, for just a moment, if perhaps his unrequited feelings aren’t so unrequited after all, but he silences that sliver of hope quickly.

_Too much hope breeds disappointment, his pessimistic side intones._

Clarke suddenly sighs and with a last squeeze, pulls back. She quickly scans the kitchen, as if only now noticing the extent of the damage. “I guess I should probably start scrubbing this mess.”

“How about you handle the pizza, the uncorking and the Netflix queue. I’ll take kitchen duty,” Bellamy suggests.

“Bell, no. I made this disaster. It’s not your fault I’m inept. And excuse me, put your phone away, you are not taking pictures of this. Don’t test me.”

Bellamy surrenders his phone back to his pocket with a smirk.

“Honestly, I enjoy your cooking ineptness,” he jokes. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re basically perfect at everything else. This humanizes you.”

Clarke shoots him an unimpressed glare. “As nice as it is to be humanized by my humiliation, making you clean feels wrong. I just want this to be a nice evening for you, Bell.”

“And it will be, Clarke. Honestly, I don’t mind. You know I like to clean,” he adds, though she still looks doubtful. “And besides, I won’t clean everything right now. I’ll just deal with the most urgent things, open a window or something, and maybe we can tackle the rest in the morning. Together.”

“Together,” she repeats hesitantly. “Okay, that sounds fair.” She leans towards him and once again wraps him in a hug, this time sighing happily. “Thank you. This is why I love you.”

Bellamy, relieved that Clarke can’t currently view the goofy grin he is sporting, rests his head atop hers contentedly.

_So, maybe a little hope is good, his optimistic side reflects. And disappointment is probably easier than regret._

“Okay,” Clarke giddily exclaims while breaking the embrace, “I’m thinking we re-watch _Bandersnatch_ , but this time, we use a coin-flip system.” 

Clarke strides towards the fridge and grabs two chilled bottles of champagne before turning towards the living room. 

“I’m also thinking we each just nurse a bottle,” she explains as she exits. Bellamy watches as she sets the bottles down and retrieves her phone from the coffee table. She starts quickly scrolling through her contacts. “And I know it’s pricier, and I know the quality is only slightly superior, but I think we order from Gino’s, right? It just feels fancier.”

Bellamy smiles gently to himself as he turns to flick off the stove. “Agreed on all counts,” he calls back.

“Perfect,” she responds. “You’re so easy to please.”

_Yep, he thinks in agreement, but only where you’re involved._


End file.
